


Is It Wrong (If I Think It's Lame To Dance)

by dementorsatemysoup



Category: Psych
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Awkward Dates, Banter, Case Fic, Drunken Flirting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humor, Kinda, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Sexual Tension, pop culture references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-04-28 05:45:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5080033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dementorsatemysoup/pseuds/dementorsatemysoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The five dates Shawn and Lassiter never had and the one they don't quite acknowledge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shit, it's been... god, years since I've written for this fandom. In fact, I don't think I've actually watched an episode since the finale. But this show made up 8 years of my life, was one of the few shows that never disappointed me, and goddamn it I miss it. So yeah.
> 
> Anyway, I am relatively new to the Shassie fandom (I've been a primarily canon shipper for this show until a few months ago), so I'm just gonna jump in and see what happens.
> 
> Thanks for reading and drop me a comment if you get the chance.
> 
> Bye!!
> 
> Also, the title comes from the song First Date by Blink 182

Strictly speaking, Carlton is not supposed to be on this stakeout. Vick told him the case was closed, had forbidden him from following up on it, had even gone as far as to threaten suspension if he did, but something didn't sit right with him. He knows Andrews is hiding something, some gut feeling he can't ignore, so he's sitting across the street from some old, vine covered three story apartment building, looking up at the second floor through a pair of binoculars, waiting for Andrews to do... something. Anything.

With a frustrated sigh, he lowers his binoculars, jolting back when he finds Spencer beaming at him from the passenger seat. How in the hell...?

"Spencer," he grumbles letting his binoculars thump against his chest. "How did you...?"

"If I say teleportation will you believe me?" Spencer smirks when Lassiter glares at him, glancing over his shoulder and up at Andrews' window. "He's hiding something," Spencer says softly, almost absentmindedly, squinting at the apartment. "Something big," he adds in a singsong voice, turning to face Carlton, giving him his best Carol Ann Freeling impression, and he can't help rolling his eyes. Of course Spencer would be on the same page as him. It wouldn't surprise Carlton if he's three steps ahead of him; sure as hell wouldn't be the first time.

"I don't know yet," Carlton admits, albeit reluctantly, grabbing his binoculars, looking up at Andrews' apartment again. "I don't have proof." He lets the binoculars drop again, fixing Spencer with a hard stare, and demands, "What are you doing here?"

Spencer wiggles his fingers and says, "The spirits, Lassie, they led me to you."

"Bullshit."

"They don't like your negativity, Lassafras."

Carlton snorts but opts to not reply, resuming his vigil over Andrews' place, ignoring the Tears For Fears song Spencer hums under his breath. If Spencer isn't going to tell him what he's doing here then Carlton is not going to waste his time asking. He already puts too much energy into not killing the jackass during the day time, he's not sure he can give Spencer the same courtesy this late at night.

Twelve rolls into one and still Andrews hasn't done anything. In fact, Carlton is pretty sure he's gone to bed at some point, most likely between him telling Spencer to shut up and yelling at him for spilling jellybeans all over his car. Now, Spencer is passed out against Carlton's window, smudging the glass with the ridiculous amount of hair product he uses, drooling all over the leather interior, loosely clutching the empty jellybean bag to his chest.

With a huff, Lassiter nudges Spencer, waiting for him to wake up. Spencer mutters under his breath, weakly batting at Lassiter's prodding hand, muttering, "No bunnies, no."

"Spencer." Lassiter nudges him again, a bit harder than before, accidentally cracking his head against the window, and Spencer wakes with a start.

"Ow," he whines sitting up, rubbing at his head. "What the hell?"

"Get out, I'm heading home."

"What?" Spencer sits up straighter, blearily looking around. "The stakeout's over? But we were just getting somewhere."

"No, you were ruining my car," Lassiter argues reaching over Spencer to open the door. "Now get out."

"Alright, if you insist," Spencer concedes after a brief pause, pushing the door open, only to end up spilling into Carlton's lap when a car speeds by the Crown Vic, taking out the door.

"Son of a bitch," Carlton exclaims over Spencer's heavy breathing, shoving him off and getting out of the car. He stomps around his vehicle, inspecting the damage, very much aware of the lingering presence that appears over his shoulder. It's quiet for a long moment, too quiet in Carlton's opinion, and he turns to ask Spencer to make a noise, let him know he's okay, but the words die on his lips.

Spencer is hunched over the car, scribbling on the hood with a Sharpie, and Carlton can't help the noise of protest that pushes its way out of his mouth. "What in the name of all that is holy are you doing?" he hisses stalking across the small distance between himself and Spencer. He grabs Spencer's arm, jerking him around, backing him into the car. He towers over Spencer, jabbing a finger into his chest, and repeats, "What are you doing?"

For a brief, very brief, moment, real fear flashes in Spencer's eyes, surprising Carlton, and he almost takes a step back, but it's gone just as quickly and he wets his lips, gesturing behind him. "The license plate number." Carlton glances over his shoulder, reading the seven digit code, disbelief no doubt flickering across his face.

"You couldn't possibly..."

Spencer shrugs, quiet for a few seconds, and foolishly Carlton actually thinks Spencer is going to be serious for once in his life, but of course the jackass ruins it by gesturing to the side of his head. "The spirits are very chatty today."

"Never mind." Carlton pushes away from Spencer, pulling his cell phone from his pocket.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think? Some asshole just tore my door off. I'm calling this in."

"Just a suggestion," Spencer starts and with a frustrated sigh Carlton looks up from his phone's screen, intending to tell Spencer to shove his suggestion up his ass, "maybe you should move your car. Just in case Vick asks what you're doing here."

Carlton's words get caught in his throat, the reminder that he's not supposed to be here practically slapping him across the face, and with a resigned huff he puts his phone away. As much as he hates to admit it, Spencer isn't wrong. He won't say it aloud, he'd never say it out loud, but he also knows he doesn't need to, Spencer already knows judging by the smug smile on his face.

"Shut up, Spencer."

With Spencer's help, what little he gives, Carlton is able to get his door into the trunk. He uses a bungee cord to keep the trunk closed as best as he can, figures he could always park across the street from his apartment, make up some story. He doesn't know yet.

He turns, finding Spencer staring at him, and can't help asking, "What?"

"Can I, by any chance, get a ride home?"

Rolling his eyes, Carlton just gets back in his car. He waits until Spencer has gotten in the backseat, too tired and frustrated to have an argument, and squeals out of his parking spot, nearly taking out a parking meter.

When Carlton pulls up to Spencer's apartment, he waits until Spencer is out of the car before rolling down his window. "You tell anyone we were there..."

"Relax, Lassie, I'm not going to say anything" Shawn says leaning into the window, grinning at Carlton. "Besides, it's been a while since I've gotten to first base with you." He winks, much to Carlton's dismay, pushing off the car, and heads inside. 

Carlton certainly doesn't wait until Spencer is inside before driving away. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to have this up last weekend, but I couldn't find the time (or the inspiration) to write. So, I am so sorry for the late chapter.
> 
> Thanks for reading last chapter, drop me a comment if you get the chance, and I'll see you in the next chapter.
> 
> Bye!!!

Carlton is flipping through the Andrews' case file for the thirtieth time that day, trying to find out what he's missing. Something is nagging at him, some tiny detail he's clearly overlooked, some small thing that he has no doubt Spencer picked up on, but he'd rather shoot himself in the foot than ask Shawn Spencer for help. He's a damn good cop, head detective, he can find one small detail; he knows he can. Good, old-fashioned police work should not be this hard.

A shadow falls over him, blocking his light, and he snaps, "You make a better door than a window."

"Do I, Detective?" Karen retorts, her sharp voice like a whip cracking across his back. Carlton sits up, ramrod straight, closing the file with a snap, letting it drop to the floor. He leans back in his chair, trying to look casual, no doubt failing if the look on Karen's face says anything, forcing a pleasant smile on his face.

"Chief, what can I do for you?"

She raises an eyebrow, her eyes darting to the file on the floor, but she opts not to mention it, letting her eyes snap back to Carlton's face instead. She gestures to her office and says, "Follow me, Carlton."

Carlton gets up, immediately suspicious, and follows Karen into her office. Wordlessly, she points at one of the unoccupied chairs next to her desk, taking a seat in her chair. He slowly sits, narrowing his eyes at her, waiting for her to say something, but Karen doesn't acknowledge him, sifting through a stack of files instead. It's uncomfortably quiet in the room, and Carlton wants nothing more than to break the silence, but before he can say anything the door swings open and he hears a familiar voice that makes him groan.

"I'm just saying, Gus, that if Judd Nelson stopped by my house and asked me to get coffee, I wouldn't say no."

"But you don't even like coffee."

"Gus, if Judd Nelson asks you to go for coffee you do not say no."

"I'd say no."

"No you wouldn't you liar."

Guster opens his mouth to argue, but Karen clears her throat, cutting him off, and the two men turn towards her in unison. Spencer spreads his arms out and says, "Chief! Tell Gus you don't say no to Judd Nelson."

"Mister Spencer, now isn't exactly the best time for your..." Karen trails off, gesturing between the two men. "...whatever that is. I have a case for you." She picks up a folder, handing it to him, and he takes it. Guster swipes it from him before he can open it, glancing over the details, but Spencer steals it back a second later. They squabble over it, flailing hands slapping each other, and it's only Carlton's shrill whistle that gets them to calm down, Guster triumphantly waving the file in the air.

"Sit," Karen says pointing at the two chairs on either side of Carlton. Both Spencer and Guster immediately sit, simultaneously crossing their legs, and Karen sighs. "Alright, this conversation cannot leave this room." She gets up, crossing the room to shut the door. Returning to her desk, Karen towers over the three men, her eyes flicking to each one before settling on Lassiter. "You're going undercover."

"For what case?" Carlton can't remember any cases that require any undercover work, he and O'Hara haven't really been handling a lot of cases lately, and speaking of his partner. "Doesn't O'Hara usually do these cases?"

"This time we need you, Carlton..."

"What could you possibly...?"

"...and Mister Spencer."

Guster's head snaps up from the file he'd been reading, his eyes wide as he looks between Carlton and Spencer. He closes the file, placing it on Karen's desk, and calmly asks, "May I please talk to Shawn for a moment?" He jumps up, gesturing for his friend to follow him, and for a moment Spencer looks as if he wants to argue, but he opts against it, silently following Guster out of the room.

Curiosity getting the best of him, Carlton leans forward, ignoring the hissed argument he can hear from the ajar door, picking the file up. He flips it open, scanning the case, frowning. This cannot be happening. What in the name of Sweet Lady Justice did he do to deserve this?

"This is unacceptable," he argues shoving himself to his feet, throwing the case file down onto her desk. "You cannot possibly expect me to do this."

"I can and you will," Karen argues managing to somehow look seven feet tall despite the several inches Carlton has on her. "Let's not forget, Detective, that you are looking into a case I explicitly told you to leave alone."

Carlton falters, taking a step back, and stammers, "No, no I'm not."

"Your license plate results came back," Karen states slapping a piece paper down in front of him. "I'm not sure why you're running Ian Andrews' plates, but any further investigating stops now. The case is closed, Andrews was a victim, leave it alone."

"But chief..."

"Leave it alone." She swipes the page off her desk, tossing it in the trash. She turns towards the door and loudly calls, "And you two, get back in here!" Guster and Spencer jump, their argument instantly forgotten, and the two rush back into the room, Spencer shutting the door behind him. "Sit." They sit again, this time forgoing the leg crossing, both silent, waiting. She turns her gaze to Carlton and he sneers but begrudgingly sits, crossing his arms tightly against his chest.

"Alright, this case is time sensitive so no screwing around." She's looking directly at Spencer when she says this and Carlton can't help snorting; Karen ignores him. "I need you to get in, get a read on the man, and get out."

"Chief, I will do this on one condition." Spencer points at Carlton, a wicked glint in his hazel eyes. "Lassie has to show that sexy sternum bush off. Something that majestic must flow free."

"Oh my God," Guster whispers looking afraid for his friends life.

Carlton knows this is going to be a disaster.

* * *

 "Alright Lassie, when's my birthday?" Spencer asks hanging upside down off of Carlton's couch, his shoes smearing something all over the leather.

"April 4th. Get your feet off my couch," Carlton snaps shoving Spencer as he stalks across the room to pour himself another glass of scotch. "When's my birthday?"

"Do you want your actual birthday or the day you told everyone so they wouldn't buy you Christmas themed gifts?"

"How could you possibly know...?"

"Psychic intuition," Spencer replies wiggling his fingers.

"Never mind," Carlton snaps yanking his cabinet door open. He pulls down the bottle of alcohol, shutting the door with more force than necessary, and turns to face Spencer again. "Get your feet off my couch," he repeats putting his tumbler on the counter.

"Okay, okay." Instead of moving, Spencer pulls his shoes off, dropping them on the floor. "There, happy?"

"I'd be happier if you weren't here," Carlton mutters unscrewing the lid to the bottle in his hand. He pours a generous amount of amber liquid into his glass, debates leaving the bottle on the counter, but decides to bring it and the tumbler back into the living room. He sits the bottle on his coffee table, takes a seat in his recliner, and asks, "Why are you agreeing to do this with me? Guster knows you better than I do."

"First of all," Spencer starts manuvering around so he's sitting up, crossing both legs, "Gus has already told me I'm not his type. Something about my lack of plans for the immediate future. Whatever that means. And second, what makes you think Gus knows me better than you? You totally know my favorite color..."

"Blue," Carlton guesses on a whim.

"No, actually it's sea foam green, but close."

"That doesn't..." Carlton sighs, swigging his drink. "Who even  _likes_ sea foam green?"

"I do," Spencer insists picking up the bottle of scotch. He takes a drink, coughs, makes a face, and puts the bottle down. "That's awful, Lassie. How can you drink that?"

"What's the matter Spencer, the lack of fruit too much for you?"

" _Man_ , not even pineapple can make that good." He wipes his tongue with his shirt, coughing again. "We need smoothies now."

"No, we don't," Carlton replies pouring himself another drink. "How'd we meet?"

"Lassie, you wound me. How can you not remember how we met?" Spencer clutches his chest, a mock hurt look on his face.

"I meant for the case, idiot." Carlton's getting a headache, he can feel it forming behind his left eye.

Spencer doesn't answer for a moment, the quiet almost unearthly, but finally he says, "Ian Andrews hit your car." It's not even a question, the words passing from Spencer's lips casually, and Carlton glares when Spencer pulls a piece of paper from his pocket. "Somebody has been digging through Chief Vick's trash can."

"Give me that," Carlton snaps reaching over and snatching the paper from Spencer's hand, hating the fact that the dumbass found out that he followed up on the license plate thing. "Did you go through my stuff when I went to the bathroom?"

"I'm naturally curious."

"That's a crime."

"So is your hair but you don't see me making a big deal about it."

"Don't go through my stuff anymore, Spencer," Carlton warns jabbing a finger in his direction. "You're too nosy for your own good."

"Have you  _seen_ my nose?" Spencer demands pointing at it. "This is the perfect amount of nose."

"Karen has got to be out of her mind," Carlton mutters putting his untouched drink down so he can pinch the bridge of his nose. "No one is going to believe we're a..." he trails off before practically spitting out the word, " _couple."_

"Well, not with that attitude." Carlton hangs his head, wondering if it's too late to take that vacation he's probably going to get forced into taking at some point. "Besides," Spencer adds grinning, bouncing up and down like an overly excited puppy, "this is practically our second date."

"Oh sweet Jesus."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a tad late. I've been crazy busy and haven't had time to write, but I am trying to get this fic updated as fast as I can.
> 
> So thanks for reading and thank you to those who left comments and kudos. Also thank you to those who bookmarked this story.
> 
> Happy Holidays and drop me a comment if you can.
> 
> Bye!!!

"Checking in?" the desk clerk asks with a bright smile and it takes everything Carlton has not to sneer at her.

"Yes," Spencer replies in a chipper voice, his arm looped through Cartlon's, an equally bright smile on his face. "The reservations under Bunts. Seymore Bunts." That's the last time Carlton lets Spencer pick the aliases.

"Bunts, Bunts..." the woman squints at the screen for a moment before nodding. "There you two are. The honeymoon suite?"

"The what?" Carlton can't help blurting out, giving Spencer an appalled look.

"Seymore, dear, we talked about this," Spencer states with his smile twisting into something forced, playing the irritated lover card very well, and for a moment even Carlton believes they're an actual, troubled couple, "we were going to get away for the weekend. Figure some stuff out."

"Right," Carlton responds after a brief pause, turning to face the receptionist, trying to smile but most likely grimacing instead.

"Okay," the receptionist says warily, her smile slipping just a little, but she composes herself quickly, turning around to grab their key. "You're on the top floor," she informs them handing Carlton the keycard. "Would you like some help with your bags?"

Carlton glances around the lobby, watching as one bellhop knocks over the luggage rack while another laughs so hard he nearly falls over, and says, "I think we've got them."

"Sure thing. Enjoy your stay."

"Thank you." Spencer pulls out a ten, tipping the girl, and winks at her before steering Carlton towards the elevators.

"I didn't think you tipped," Carlton comments out of the corner of his mouth.

"I don't," Spencer answers quietly, shoving a wallet into Carlton's chest, "but _you_ do."

"What?" He flips the wallet open, looking down at his own ID , and sputters. "Spencer."

"Oh, look Seymore, our ride's here."

The moment the elevator doors close, Carlton shoves Spencer off of him, scowling at the other man. "Does Vick know about the honeymoon suite?"

"Of course," Spencer lies digging in his bag. "Okay, so maybe not exactly, but I have it on good authority that Del is going to be in the presidential suite."

"So?"

"So, Seymore," Spencer starts looking up, pulling a list of hotel reservations from the bottom of his bag, "that means we need to be on the same floor as him. The presidential suites are down the hall from the honeymoon suites." He holds the paper out to Carlton, who snatches it from him, and both look at the list of names and check in/out times, Spencer's finger running down the names before stopping on Samuel Del. "Oh, look, he's already here."

"How did you get this?" Carlton asks slowly, studying the list.

"The question, my dear," Spencer snatches the list back, shoving it into his bag again, "isn't how I got it. It's who's getting the left side of the bed? Because I can't sleep on the right, not anymore, not since... Well, not since Gus and Mexico, the second time, but that's an entirely different story."

"Spencer, we're not sharing a bed," Carlton says sharply.

"If it makes you feel better, we'll put up a pillow barrier."

"I'm not sharing a bed with you."

"You know, Seymore, if you just give this weekend a chance it might surprise you," Spencer replies just as the doors open. He steps off, calling over his shoulder, "You'll never know."

Carlton snorts, rolling his eyes, but follows Spencer off the elevator without complaint, muttering, "If you ever steal my wallet again, I'll kill you."

"Promises, promises," Spencer retorts in a sing song voice and it takes Carlton everything he has not to thump him in the back of the head.

* * *

The guy they're looking for is an alleged hired gun named Samuel Del. According to Karen, the SBPD had been working with the FBI for a few weeks trying to catch this guy. It irks Carlton a little (okay a lot) that nobody bothered to consult him about this case until now. He is head detective, these types of cases should find their way onto his desk by any means necessary. He shouldn't have to wait until he's roped into an undercover operation, with Spencer of all people, to learn that an assassin is staying at one of the more prominent hotels in Santa Barbara.

Their room's door has barely been unlocked five minutes, Carlton has just set his bag down, when Spencer starts whining about being hungry. Carlton picks up the room service menu from a small table by the door, throwing it at Spencer, and kicks the door closed. He strides across the room, looking out the huge, floor-to-ceiling window. It's a nice view. He yanks the curtain closed.

"I want to eat in the hotel restaurant," Spencer says ignoring the menu laying on the floor.

"Why are you being so difficult," Carlton demands turning to face Spencer, a scowl on his face.

"First of all, I am always difficult," Spencer states stubbornly crossing his arms, "and second this is our special weekend and I'm going to the restaurant whether you like it or not."

"Spencer, we are not a couple."

"Don't care." Spencer turns, heading towards the door, yanking it open. "Your problem, Lassie Pants, is you lack a sense of adventure." He walks out of the room, leaving the door open, and Lassiter rolls his eyes but still follows him, stalking across the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Do you think Chief Vick will care if I ordered all the desserts off the dessert menu?" Spencer asks as they step onto the elevator again. Carlton doesn't answer, jabbing the lobby button harder than necessary, waiting for the doors to close, but Spencer hits the button to open them.

"What are you doing?" Carlton demands glaring at him.

Spencer holds up a finger, listening carefully, and Carlton contemplates throwing him through a wall, but his plan comes to a halt when someone appears from around the corner, head down, walking towards the elevator. With a triumphant look, Spencer hits the same button as before, halting the doors a second time, and a man steps onto the elevator a moment later.

Carlton edges towards Spencer when he realizes who it is, recognizing him from the photographs the FBI had managed to get of him, instinctively putting himself between the guy and Spencer, eyeing the new arrival warily. Samuel Del is looking at his phone, hardly paying attention to the two men sharing an elevator car with him, and Carlton really wishes he had his handcuffs.

"Not yet, Lassie," Spencer murmurs in his ear before stepping around Carlton, maneuvering away from Carlton's hands when he tries to grab him, putting himself directly into Del's personal bubble. "Hello," Spencer says brightly. Del looks up slowly, fixing Spencer with a blank stare, but doesn't say anything. That, however, does not deter Spencer and he continues, "This place is nice, right?" When he still doesn't receive an answer again he says, "Look, man, I'm not going to shut up just because you're not talking to me. Ask my partner," he gestures to Carlton, "he'll tell you the same thing."

Del's eyes dart towards Carlton just as the doors open. With a grumbled threat, Carlton grabs Spencer's arm and drags him out of the elevator, very much aware of the eyes tracking their movements, and he practically shoves Spencer all the way to the restaurant, keeping himself between Del and the jackass he's been cursed to protect again.

The moment they're out of earshot of Del, Carlton snaps, "What the ever loving hell is your problem? Do you have a death wish or something?"

"No, but I have Del's wallet," Spencer replies holding it up for Carlton to see.

Speechless, and maybe feeling an ulcer coming on, Carlton throws his hands in the air and stalks away from Spencer. He hears Spencer chase after him and it takes everything he has not to speed up.

* * *

 ~~~~Del enters the restaurant about ten minutes after Carlton and Spencer, taking a seat in the far corner, and immediately starts looking at his phone again. Carlton watches him closely, ignoring the smug smile on his companion's face, while Spencer digs through the guy's wallet, laying everything neatly on the table, looking over the contents. Carlton tears his eyes away from Del, settling them on Spencer, and, against his better judgment, asks, "Anything?"

"He has three gift cards to Panera Bread," Spencer replies without looking up from the contents. "Who needs that much Panera? Is Subway too good for him or something?"

"Spencer focus. Do that..." Carlton simply refuses to call anything Shawn Spencer does psychic, " _thing_ you do."

" _Somebody_ has been watching Tom Hanks movies," Spencer mutters still checking out the stuff in Del's wallet. He's quiet a moment, furrowing his eyebrows, a troubled look flitting across his face, and for a moment Carlton actually thinks he has something, but then the expression clears and he says, "Panera doesn't even have good chips."

Carlton sighs, looking back at Del, his eyes settling on the phone still in his hands. They need to get a hold of that phone, somehow, and Carlton feels something cold and dark slither in his stomach at what he's about to ask. He's a cop, he does things by the book, and this isn't something that Vick would approve of, but they have to do something before Spencer blabs to the whole restaurant that they're undercover.

He glances back at Spencer, who is already looking at Del's phone, and can't help sighing a second time (this time internally). Of course Spencer is already ahead of him again. Why does Carlton even bother sometimes?

"Distraction?" he asks after a beat, and Spencer looks up, nodding. "Alright." Carlton stands up, contorting his face into something vaguely murderous, and shouts, "Who the fuck is Anthony?"

The outburst catches Spencer off guard for all of three seconds before he catches on and snaps back, "I see you've been going through my phone again, Seymore."

"Of course I have; pay back's a bitch, Michael." Carlton makes the name up on the spot, forgetting Spencer's alias in the moment, hoping that doesn't come back to bit him in the ass later.

"I never looked through your phone," Spencer argues back jumping to his feet, throwing his napkin back onto the table. "Why do I even bother with this relationship if you don't even trust me?"

That question almost makes Carlton falter, his mind immediately going back to the day he and Victoria split up, but he forces himself to keep going, hearing himself say the same words she said to him so many years ago. "How can I trust you if you're not even there half the time?"

By this point, all of the diners are looking at them, including Del, his phone sitting by his hand, and Carlton can tell Spencer sees it too, especially when he sighs, giving Carlton a tired look, and says, "I guess we can't fix this, can we Seymore?"

Again, Carlton is reminded of the day he and his wife split, his chest clenching, and he can hardly force his next few words out, but he does anyway for the sake of the case. "I guess not, Michael."

"Alright." Spencer nods, looking like he's trying to hold back tears, and Carlton has to give him props. He's always been a convincing liar. "Alright, I guess I'll pack my stuff when we get home." He walks away, shoulders hunched, heading towards the exit, and Carlton lowers himself back into his seat, trying to look lost, no doubt succeeding (he feels a little lost), ignoring the people staring at him.

He waits a total of five minutes before getting up, throwing a few bills on the table for their drinks, and stalking out of the restaurant. Spencer is waiting for him in the furthest elevator from the left, already trying to crack Del's password, his green Psych case replacing the black one that had been on it before, but he looks up when Lassiter joins him, an impressed look on his face.

"I gotta hand it to you Lassie, you're a good liar when you try hard enough," Spencer comments looking back at the phone in his hands. Carlton grunts in reply, hitting the button to their floor, feeling like he needs to take a hot shower and lay down for a couple hours (or weeks). He's debating calling Vick, asking her to take him off this case, no longer wanting to be around Spencer, when he's shoved into the elevator wall.

"What are you...?" he starts but stops when Spencer suddenly crowds his space, face inches from his, one hand on his hip the other resting against the middle of his back, his breath hot against Carlton's face. Before Carlton can shove him off, Del enters the elevator, grumbling to himself about his missing wallet, sparing them a single, blank stare before pressing the already lit up number, crossing his arms, glaring at the floor.

Carlton decides to play along, clutching at Spencer's shirt collar with one hand, gripping his shoulder with the other, and they stand like that for the entire elevator ride, pretending to kiss. When the doors open on their floor, Del gets off, stalking towards his room, and Carlton waits until he's out of sight before shoving Spencer away from him.

"Was it as good for you as it was for me?" Spencer asks turning away from Carlton, keeping his voice light, but his shoulders look a little tense. Carlton grunts again, escaping the elevator as quickly as he can, thoughts of hot showers suddenly the last thing on his mind.

From behind him he can hear Spencer laugh softly. "They say the couple that steals together probably ends up sharing jail cells."

"Fuck off, Spencer," Lassiter grumbles unlocking their room door.

"Oh Seymore," Spencer starts following him, "I love it when you talk dirty to me." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me explain the Panera crack. So, I had Panera once and the sandwich was actually pretty good (as was the pickle that came with it), but I didn't particularly care for the chips. So, I'm just foisting my own complaining onto Shawn (and if you like the chips that's cool). Something tells me he wouldn't appreciate it. Oh well.


End file.
